


Unsettling

by BrandyFromTheBottle



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Angst, Drugs, Gen, Homelessness, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Prison, implied cartel, stancest if you squint really really hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2019-02-01 15:29:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12707742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrandyFromTheBottle/pseuds/BrandyFromTheBottle
Summary: Daemon!AUSometimes being flexible just makes it easier to get fucked over.(The adventures of a young Stanley Pines through homelessness, prison, crime lords, and all that fuckery.)





	Unsettling

**Author's Note:**

> Daemon AU! Because, who hasn't gone through that phase? (Me, I haven't gone through, I'm still here.)  
> This is another instance of "hey, I'll write this short, little one-shot, ha ha, it'll be fun!"  
> And then my hand slipped. A lot.

When they are little, Stan and Ford’s daemons mimic each other just to confuse everyone around them. It’s a game to try and get people to guess who was what. As they get older, though, Ford finds the game less fun and Malka seems to agree. Stan knows that Ford is anxious to settle--maybe the kids at school will respect him if he’s grown up enough to settle. Stan understands, he wants to settle, too. But, it’s a big thing to do.

Ford really starts to commit to school when they turn fifteen. He was always a bookworm and brown noser before, but now it’s intense. As Ford pours over books and homework Malka starts to stay in different forms longer and longer. She favors a small chimp, a raven, and even, memorably, an octopus. Ford has Stan run home and grab his books because Malka refuses to change back and Ford can’t stretch the bond far enough to do it himself. Makai becomes a seagull to harass Malka until she squirts ink right into his face, making him plummet into the water as Stan howls with laughter. Even Ford smiles a little at that.

Stan is fine with being unsettled, it’s a lot more fun. Makai can shrink into a rat and nick keys and coins. He can grow into a wolf and snarl at people who harass Ford.

But, Stan gets his own shit. Yeah, his daemon’s male, so what? There are plenty of male daemons. Sorry, what was that? You say something? And those are the times Ford drags him away by the collar, Stan thrashing at the calls of: what a pair of freaks, what, did their ma drink radioactive waste? And then Malka gets involved because you do not fucking talk about their mother like that and--that’s another thing. Stan and Ford touch each other’s daemons all the time. Ford’s got six fingers, Makai is male, what’s one more bit of fuckery, right?

Stan and Ford? They’re close. Reeeally close. It’s gotta be a twin thing. Stan doesn’t mind, he fucking loves it, but Ford can get weird about it. Lately Ford’s been avoiding the Stan-O-War and skips Stan’s boxing matches to stay late at school and study (the guy never takes a break).

It doesn’t really come as a surprise to anyone when Malka turns into a raven and doesn’t turn back. Stan is ecstatic, jumping and slapping Ford on the back hard enough to upset his glasses. Malka is beautiful, all sleek feathers and soft down. Stan tells them this, praising Malka’s beauty and Ford’s settling. They both preen under the attention.

Makai gets a little weird after that, trying to stay in one shape before it starts to chafe. He tries a pit bull, a magpie to match Malka, even racoon which makes Ford snort in amusement. Still, Stan starts to feel Ford drift away; Malka and Makai can’t play like they used to. Ford is getting so much attention and special projects from their teachers that Stan rarely sees him. It takes careful planning and cajoling to get Ford to come down to the Stan-O-War and have fun like they used to.

Turns out all that time Ford spent at school he’s been making some science doohickey that impressed all the teachers but Stan doesn't get it. Not until the call to the principal’s office. What they hear makes Makai shrink into a little mouse and curl in Stan’s pocket even as Malka chatters excitedly with Ford the whole drive home.

 

Stan doesn’t mean to break the project and it’s too late to go home and wake Ford--Stan’s gonna have to sneak in through the window, again. It’s just that Makai was running around crazy and got underfoot and Stan tripped. That’s all. But Ford doesn’t buy it and Stan really gets fucked when Pops shows up, his badger snarling and pinning Makai to the ground even as Ma’s weasel scampers over to try and get between them. It seems like a surreal nightmare when Stan’s ass hits the pavement and the door slams and Makai flies up to their bedroom window, crying at the curtain.

“Fine, I never needed you anyway!” Stan snarls and stalks to the El Diablo, Makai is still lingering at the window. “‘Kai, get over here! They don’ want us.” Makai cries out again, soft and broken before shooting into the passenger well, curling tight into the floor and whimpering into his small paws. Stan starts the car roughly and peels the fuck outta Glass Shards Beach--he’s better than that hell hole, anyway.

 

He tries the salesman shtick and it’s a fucking favor that Makai hasn’t settled; people glance over the man with a pigeon daemon when they’re looking for a lizard. He starts to realize that, maybe, everyone was right about him because he fails at everything he tries—band-aides, towels, fucking vacuum cleaners. It’s all shoddy work without Ford to tell him what he’s doing wrong and so everything breaks or just fucks up. So, he does what he’s actually good at--being a fucking criminal.

He picks pockets and shoplifts while Makai offers cover. He enters underground cage fights. He gets into the fucking daemon fighting circuit. He gets kicked out a lot because, while there’s no rule about unsettled daemons (what kinda man has an unsettled daemon?) enough people kick up a fuss about cheating that Stan grabs the winnings and Makai causes a ruckus and they fucking bail and move to the next fight. Makai, sweet guy he is, hates it but he gets it--they gotta eat. It still hurts when Makai shifts into a big dog to cover Stan’s freezing body and Stan can see every scar that the fur can’t cover. It just makes the El Diablo colder.

Stan gets chased right across the border and then another and another. He lands in jail and he just can’t keep his head down enough between being a gringo and having a male daemon (and Colombians have _ideas_ about that). Stan convinces Makai to stay in his mongrel form, trying to make himself just a little smaller, but. He’s got some attention and he learns real fast how to survive and who to bend over for and it’s okay, really, it’s not all bad until someone gets too rough and Stan didn’t say he’d do both of the guys. Their daemons, a viper and a red faced ukairi pin Makai and he just flips his shit, using everything he learned in the pit, shrinking into a mouse and blowing into an eagle and it feels so fucking weird when he claws the shit outta the two guys and Stan hears them swear and shout, but he makes a break for it and can feel Makai follow him when the bond gets a bit to strained.

Cat’s outta the bag and Makai shifts and stays as a jaguar, snarling at anyone they pass and Stan doesn’t feel safe, but he appreciates the thought. He’s hiding in the most unoccupied corner in the yard and approached by someone he recognizes as belonging to the gang Makai assaulted and they both tense for a fight. The guy, Jose or something, merely grits out in disjointed English:

“ _Jefe_ want word you.” The guy’s rat daemon is staring at Makai and Makai stares right back.

“Coulda told me himself. Fuck off.” Stan goes to turn but the guy grabs his shoulder and Makai shoves the guy away immediately. The guy stumbles back with a growl.

“Will come.” He says and Stan pats Makai’s head because, yeah, they gotta sleep sometime and he might as well grovel now before these assholes drag him away with force, Makai be damned.

“Whatever.” But Stan gestures for the guy to lead the way. The prison yard isn’t really that big so it's a short walk to stand stiff before a lounging Jorge. Jorge isn’t an attractive man—weird mustache and long hair, but he is somehow _elegant_ as he’s smoking a cigar, how the _fuck_ did he get a cigar? Stan swelters in the fucking Columbian heat as Jorge slowly exhales.

“You assaulted my men, _gringo_.” Jorge drawls, his accent is thick but his English is good, the fucker. And, yeah, Stan knew this was coming but he still feels way too cold and his skin is way too tight. Jorge’s macaw daemon croaks.

“Technically that was Makai.” Stan shrugs, trying for casual but he’s holding onto Makai’s fur hard. Jorge snorts and takes a long sip of smoke.

“Yes, he looks...different.” Jorge says between the smoke. Makai gives a low growl, but Stan holds him back.

“So, what?” Stan snaps, feeling a few more men coming over. They’re fucked if this gets ugly and he knows the guards are setting wagers right now. Sucker’s bet, but to each their own.

“It’s interesting. I’ve never seen it before.” The macaw flaps over and starts to hop around by Makai, inspecting him. Makai bares his teeth.

“Yeah, regular one of a kind, here. Ya gotta point?” Stan feels sweat bead at his neck. He sees an ocelot daemon and knows another guy has shown up. He’s so fucked. Jorge chuckles and fuck, fuck, _fuck_.

“It’s a valuable asset.” Jorge says and sets his cigar to the side. The macaw flaps over and lands on his shoulder like a fucking pirate. “I have a proposition.”

This...is not going the way Stan thought it would. But, okay, yeah. Maybe he can get outta this in one piece. Maybe.

“I’m listenin’.”

“You’re unique...situation allows you a great degree of flexibility.” Jorge stands and walks to stand before Stan, arms clasped behind his back. “I’m sure that with the right resources you could easily, say, open certain doors.” Ah, shit.

“You wanna break out?” Stan doesn’t really ask. Jorge snorts.

“Oh no, of course not. Why would I wish to leave this fine establishment?” And even Stan can hear the sarcasm in that--he’s pretty sure they ate ground rat yesterday.

“So, whadda ya want me to do and whadda I get outta it?” Stan lets go of Makai to cross his arms.

“I am not without influence, _gringo_.” Jorge says. “Though, to be quite honest, I’m not asking. I’m giving you the chance to find this mutually beneficial. But, either way, I will get what I want.”

Well, with that kind of bedroom talk, who wouldn't hop into a bed with this guy?

“Fine.” Stan offers a hand. “Welcome to the Stan Co experience.” Jorge laughs and takes Stan’s hands in both of his.

“I look forward to it.”

 

Overnight Stanley “El Gringo” Pines becomes untouchable. The assholes that used to sneer at him avert their eyes and Stan would feel smug about it if the price didn’t weigh so heavily on his mind.

Jorge doesn’t ask Stan to do things to dangerous or incriminating. Mostly it’s petty theft, stealing papers Stan and Makai can’t read. Sometimes Makai plucks up shiny metals or sharp plastics. Anything Stan thinks will please Jorge, because Jorge?

Fuck, Jorge is GOOD to Stan. He is free with praise and doesn’t smack Stan around if he fucks up. Makai still doesn’t like him, but Makai has learned better than to trust people (especially the people you share a soul with; everyone will fuck you over eventually). Jorge shares food and smokes with Stan when things go well. Sometimes, when Makai flutters to Stan’s arm with a paper in her talons, Jorge will start to pour over it, passing Stan his cigar to finish. In those moments, Stan sips the cigar and Jorge tsks and mutters and it feels almost like friendship.

 

It gets fucked, of course, because he’s Stanley-fucking-Pines.

 

Ironically, it gets fucked when Stan gets released. He plans to blow straight outta Columbia and middle American as a whole. But, as he and Makai move out with their meager belongings a man with Jorge’s symbol tattooed on his arm guides Stan to a sleek car. Makai has the decency to shift from jaguar to wolf to fit in the car more easily, but he doesn't stop glaring the entire car ride to some estate in the jungle.

If Stan wasn't trying to avoid shitting his pants, he'd be in awe. The building and grounds are beautiful. There are fucking _peacocks_.

Stan tries not to gawp. He's trying not to anything when the man pulls up to the huge fucking double doors and gestures at Stan to leave. He does and the car drives off and Stan is standing there, dumb as a brick. Another man approaches him, classic white button down and slacks, an elegant dog lopes beside him, wearing a thick, embroidered collar. Stan tries to imagine putting a collar on Makai. It's weird.

“ _Senor_ Pines?” The man asks, his hands clasped behind his back.

“Uh...maybe?” Stan smiles nervously with a shrug. The man's face is impassive, probably damn good at poker.

“Follow me.” The man turns and begins to briskly walk to the mansion--fucking huge mansion in the middle of the jungle. Stan rests his hand in Makai’s scruff. He gives his daemon a quick shake. Makai doesn't revert to the jaguar.

The man leads them into the mansion with its huge double staircase, marble floors, big-ass chandelier. There are other men lounging in plush chairs or around a table with cash and cigars. They are all disturbingly well dressed for how many guns are on display. The men barely spare him a glance but he can hear a few chuckles. Makai growls softly, Stan grips his scruff, hard. He quiets but doesn't relax.

Stan’s lead to a cabana that stands open between the large glass doors of a spacious kitchen and a ridiculously opulent pool, vivid jungle greenery peeks over the stucco walls surrounding the grounds.

And there, lounging to the side, sipping clear liquor while flipping through a folder is fucking Jorge. He's not alone, there's another man with him, taller and darker and strangely similar Jorge.

“What the fuck.” Stan says and Jorge chuckles, the man next to him laughs and says something in Spanish. Jokes on them, Stan’s learned enough to get the gist of what they're saying.

“You weren't kidding.” Not Jorge says, his voice deep and warm. Stan tries not to react, let ‘em think Stan’s an idiot.

“Never doubt me, brother.” Ah, so Not Jorge is Jorge’s brother. Don't react. They finally actually look at Stan. “ _Gringo_ , this is my brother, Rico.” Rico waves a lazy hand.

“Oh, great, hi, Rico. Jorge, what the fuck?” Rico laughs, again, and Stan is getting really pissed.

“Don't be rude, _Gringo_.” Jorge chides with a fond smile. This is getting weird, fuck Stan’s luck. Makai is crowding close to Stan, ears back, tail low. They both jump when a large hawk circles them and lands neatly on Rico’s outstretched arm.

“I've heard much about you, Mr. Pines.” Rico says, gently stroking his daemon’s beak.

“Can't say the same.” Stan growls. “Jorge--”

“Patience, _Gringo_. Ah, but my manners! Please, take a seat. You are a free man! That is certainly worth celebrating.” Jorge gestures to a third, empty seat. Stan glares but, fuck it, back to square one. Stan wrenches out the chair and settles into it as intelligently as he can. Makai sits stiffly. Jorge looks at him curiously, the macaw hopping from Jorge’s shoulder to the table, settling on the edge. She watches Makai, something she always does. It's unsettling but no longer bothers either Stan or Makai. Much. Makai growls.

“What would you like to drink?” Rico snaps his fingers and an elderly woman materializes with capybara following behind her. She scares the shit outta Stan.

“Jesus!” He jumps and the woman gives him a bit of a disapproving glance. They’re all staring at him. Stan sweats. “Ah, water?” Rico rolls his eyes and Jorge huffs.

“This is a celebration, Mr. Pines!” He turns to the woman, evidently Stan’s getting a rum and coke. That actually sounds amazing. He hasn't had soda in years.

“Look, I really--”

“He is different.” Jorge interrupts, glancing at Makai curiously. Stan snorts.

“Yeah, kinda our shtick.” Stan drawls, reaching down to pet Makai. He's too stiff.

“If I recall, he favors the jaguar, yes?” Jorge asks, all polite curiosity.

“Jorge, you literally saw us a few hours ago.” Stan deadpans and Rico laughs.

“Always so dramatic!” Rico claps a hand to Jorge’s shoulder. “Though, I must admit, I'm curious to see your amazing talent.” Stan snorts and even Makai huffs.

“Yeah, real amazin’.” Stan drawls as the woman returns with Stan’s drink and two more for the brothers. “ _Gracias_.” He says and the woman barely bats an eyelid, just mozies of to where ever she came from.

“My I?” Rico asks. Stan shrugs and sips his drink. It's fucking amazing and Stan makes an embarrassing noise.

“If ya wanna, ‘Kai.” But they both know that this, just like Jorge’s first offer, isn't really a request. Makai stands, growls again at the macaw, and fluidly grows into the familiar shape of a jaguar. Rico whistles, low and impressed.

“You shouldn't doubt me, Rico.” Jorge sips his drink, smug. Rico shakes his head, his hawk joining the macaw in scrutinizing Makai.

“This is better than you said.” Rico says, the Spanish rolling off his tongue in a swift rush.

“You should trust me more often.” Jorge replies. Stan scowls because, yeah, he looks like a dumb _gringo_ but, hey, he’s right there. To Stan, Jorge says in his stupid, perfect English: “ _Gringo_ , we’d like for you to come work with us.” He says it with a pleasant smile and Stan remembers cigars and quiet companionship. He looks at Makai who looks back at him. Rico looks eager, eyes flitting from Makai to Stan and back. Stan swallows back the familiar dread that comes before a shitty decision in a shitty situation. Adapt or die; that’s the Stan Co. way. Fuck it, Jorge didn’t screw him over last time, might as well hop back in bed with the guy.

“Can I get another one of these?” Stan wiggles his empty glass. Rico laughs and Jorge smiles.

 

He never finds out “what-the-fuck-Jorge.”

 

Stan is promoted from stealing papers to fucking up rivals on raids. (Turns out Makai isn’t the only one who learned shit in the pits; Stan still has a mean left hook and he fucking loves this--beating the shit outta bad guys and whooping through the afterglow of fucking surviving.) He gets a bit of a reputation for being a bit crazy. He rides it--between Makai’s unstable form and Stan’s battle-highs, he’s something uncommon and uncomfortable, so most of the goons avoid him. Work’s for Stan. Still, Jorge is a great boss and Rico is always a fucking ride. They let him stay in the fucking mansion (and, yeah, Stan’s stupid but not that stupid. He knows a gilded cage when he sees one). He has a stupidly plush bed, free access to food, running water. He gets to know Maria and her wonderful fucking foods and mean drinks. (“Run away with me, Maria, you’ve ruined me for other women.” “ _Senor_ has had too much to drink.”) Makai even starts to relax around the other daemons. Asuncion is witty, her flamboyant feather at odds with her dry and lethal humor. Stan fucks with her anyway. (“Hey, Mardi Gras, what’s shakin’.” “This is not my name, Stanley.”) Saraphina is fast and vicious but so much fucking fun. When she finally annoys Makai to his limit, the guy becomes a commodore and they chase each other for half an hour before Rico and Stan are causing a ruckus screaming and swearing at them to cut that shit out, they have shit to do. It takes Jorge and Maria to shoo them inside and Asuncion flies into the fray and lays into both daemons until they sulk back to earth.

Jorge is the only one to call Stan “ _Gringo_.” In prison that was his moniker, his handle. Here, though, everyone just calls him “ _Loco_ ” and it’s so fucking cliché that Stan rolls with it (hey’ he’s a sucker for clichés. They work). Stan thinks it’s just a holdover from the old days until his one-year-anniversary “working” for Jorge and Rico. He gets drunk, Jorge gets drunk, Rico gets scarce and Stan finds himself moaning, face down in Jorge’s bed with his boss fucking him raw, whispering sweet and sappy shit in Stan’s ear that has him writhing and cumming embarrassingly fast. (Rico won’t stop smirking the next morning when Stan is groaning into the table as Maria tsks and tuts and gives both him and Jorge a hang-over cure that Stan would kill for. Makai becomes a cougar and ambushes Seraphina for the rest of the day.)

So, yeah, Stan’s life isn’t so bad.

 

He becomes a little famous for pulling off crazy heists and eradicating rival cartels. He has several warrants for his arrest. He becomes a folk hero and a demon.

Sometimes Stan wonders what Ford would think of him now.

He doesn’t sleep well those nights.

 

He gets cozy and comfortable and that’s when he fucks up. One of the raids go south because someone tipped off the cops and, yeah, Stan gets a few good licks in, but his team gets overwhelmed like nothing and Stan finds himself on the wrong side of the bars again. It’s not bad, he knows Jorge and Rico will pull him out; he’s a fucking asset.

But, then the government gets involved.

 

The good ol’ US-of-A hears that one of their own has gotten nicked by the Columbians and they have a fuck ton of warrants for him, too. They throw a hissy fit that has the whole world rolling their eyes and Stan is shipped off before the news that he’s been arrested even goes on television.

 

It gets worse when they try to collar Makai to keep him complacent and Makai, the poor fucker, shifts and freaks everyone the fuck out. Stan’s shot so full of trans he’s out for days. They ship him off again.

 

Stan regains some kind of lucidity when he’s handcuffed to a hospital bed in a white room with bright lights. He can feel Makai somewhere, but not close. He can’t hear his daemon or see him (he can’t see a whole lot, his brain is kinda soupy and his eyes reflect that.) A nurse or a doctor comes in and asks him questions and he tries to answer and ask questions, but he’s stoned as fuck. They don’t let him sober up too much so he has no idea what time it is but he feels the ache of Makai’s absence get worse and worse until he’s screaming and thrashing. He gets knocked out again--he barely feels the prick of a needle but he feels the hands (and the ghost hands, Makai must be screaming, too, they must be touching him and Stan will tear every one of these fuckers apart.)

 

They let Stan sober up enough to be led to a cold, metal room where he’s handcuffed to the table and he can feel that Makai’s closer than he has been in (days, weeks, months?).

“--He’ll be here soon, maybe an hour or so. Let the subject become a bit more lucid, he was a little upset that we’ve been keeping him under sedation. Understanding, of course, but the subject should be at least a little more aware of his surroundings. We don’t need the drugged ramblings of a criminal to mar the results--” and Stan drifts off again, still awake but just gone away. He drifts and tries to focus on Makai; Makai is closer; Makai is okay.

He’s finally able to count the ceiling tiles--slowly and carefully, but he can see each square and not just a smear of white--when he hears voices pick up again.

“--He was extremely volatile when brought in and, well, with his condition we were unsure what to do. Most daemons can be restrained but--”

“Yes, of course, I understand. It’s fascinating, really. Is it a psychological condition or physical?” Oh, shit, Stan must be doped more than he thought because that voice sounds so achingly familiar. Deeper, older, but familiar.

“Well, we were hoping that you could help with that.”

The door opens and Stan keeps his eyes closed because, fuck, even if this is some kind of acid trip from whatever these quacks have pumped into his veins, he really, really missed that voice. He doesn’t open his eyes when he hears a stumble and gasp.

“Doctor Pines, are you alright?”

“Ah. Yes, I’m sorry, I--suppose I did not expect him to...”

“Ah, yes, he’s actually in a better state than most days.”

“Yes. Please leave, I’d like to speak with him alone.”

“I’m not sure that’s wise--”

“Alone.”

“Ah, okay. Well, should you need anything, please don’t hesitate to contact an orderly. And be careful, the sedatives will be wearing off. He’s been known to be violent.”

Then the door opens and closes again. A beat of silence and then hands are on his face--fuck, six fingers are cradling his face and they’re so soft and warm.

“Stanley? Oh, God, Stanley. I need you to open your eyes, I need to make sure you’re okay.” It sounds like Ford, feels like Ford, but Stan knows drugs are convincing (Rico knew how to _party_ ). He weakly shakes his head, he doesn’t want to wake up yet. Ford is being so gentle and he’s usually so rough. This is nice. “Stanley, open your eyes.” Ford repeats, voice firmer. Stan is mortified by the sound that leaves him--like a whimper or whine. “Now.” Ford barks and Stan peels his heavy, burning eyes open. It’s bright and blurry and Stan hears Ford whisper a curse. “Stan, do you know where you are?” Stan leans into the hands on his face and sighs. “Stanley.” Ford says sharply. Stan feels himself whine again. He can’t answer the question because he doesn’t know. He knows Ford, here and now. He knows Makai, distant and hurt. And, he blinks slowly, Malka. Malka is perched on Ford’s shoulder, nervously plucking at Ford’s hair and collar, whispering into Ford’s ear. Stan feels a stupid, sad smile on his face.

“M’lka.” He slurs and both Ford and Malka snap to stare at his eyes. He blushes and looks away, but Ford pulls Stan’s face back so they’re eye to eye.

“Stanley, do you recognize me?” Ford asks and Stan can barely see Malka bouncing and puffing just like she used too when Ford was worried over a test. Stan frowns.

“S’xer.” He tries to put all his offense in that word because, fuck Ford if he thinks Stan would ever forget him. Ford slumps, relieved.

“Oh, thank God.” Ford rests his forehead against Stan’s. Stan’s hand reaches up to grab Ford back, but the chains tying him to the table clank loudly in the small room. Ford startles back, hands leaving Stan’s face and it’s too cold and Stan makes another stupid noise. “Oh, God, Stanley, what have you done.” Ford sounds horrified and pissy and Stan doesn’t understand because he just wanted to touch Ford, touch Malka, touch--

“‘Kai.” Stan says, suddenly, and he needs his daemon right now. He feels the panic rising in him because his soul is gone, his soul is gone, his soul--

There’s a beak preening his hair, feather against his neck, talons in his shoulder. It’s not Makai, it’s not his daemon but his breathing doesn’t get faster; doesn’t get beyond labored and into hyperventilating.

And then Makai is there. He feels a huge, soft head bump his and he’s crying and this is so stupid, he’s so stupid, but Makai is here for the first time in weeks-months-years. Fuck, he must be really fucked up on drugs to have Ford and Malka and Makai all together. That just makes him cry harder even as Makai’s rough tongue licks his face, his neck, his hair. He tries to curl around Stan but the chair and the chain and table make it too awkward.

Stan doesn’t know how long his stoned sob-fest lasts but he feels another layer of cobwebs fall away. He can finally pull his face from Makai’s fur to look at Ford and Malka hopping nervously on the metal table. He feels shame and love and fear and hope. Stan doesn’t know what to feel.

“Hiya, Ford.” He croaks, voice rougher that usual and grossly wet. Ford goes from nervous to stunned to furious.

“That’s it? Stanley, do you have any idea what you’ve done? Do you? Do you know how many strings I had to pull to get you here? How many countries we had to handle to get custody of you? Do you even know where you are? You, knucklehead, look around you!” Ford isn’t shouting but he almost is and that’s almost worse. He gestures widely around the bright metal room with the metal table and metal chairs and the cuffs securing Stan to the table. Malka is tugging at Ford’s long tweed coat sleeve. Ford is about to snap at her when they both become aware of the noise. Makai is growling. Makai is growling _at Ford_. Stan panics, tries to reach for his daemon. Makai is crouched in front of Stan, big jaguar body bunched, his lips pulled back, ears flat, tail thrashing. Ford stumbles back, Malka flaps over to him, trying to find a place to land, to soothe Ford, finally finding a shaking shoulder. And in the tense silence, Makai finally speaks for the first time in years without prompting.

“Stay away from us.” He snarls, Stan makes shushing noises.

“No, ‘Kai, s’okay, jus’ Ford--”

“I know who that is.” Makai snaps, interrupting Stan’s slurring speech, still glaring at Ford. And Ford seems to take a moment to really look at them. At Stan’s stoned, exhausted face, at Makai’s scarred, furious body. Ford’s face does a gross spasm and then smoothes out. He carefully approaches the table and pulls a folder from the ground--when did that even get there. He pulls out a tape recorder.

“Stanford Pines, first session with subject 19200114. Sedated but lucid.” Ford drones clinically and Stan feels a muted anger. Malka seems stiff on Ford’s shoulder. Stan leans forward, landing a chin on Makai’s back.

“Watcha doin’, Ford?” Stan asks because he’s not sure what his brother is doing. He’d like Ford to touch his face again. That was nice.

“Understanding of separating daemon and subject. While traumatic for both, the daemon displays aggressive behavior despite subject’s state of sedation.”

“Well, gee, Stanford, I wonder why I might be pissed at people drugging Stan.” Makai snarls and Stan thinks he sees Ford flinch. Malka definitely does.

“Well, as you are so much more lucid that Stanley at present,” Ford shifts and then settles, pulling out a pen and notebook in addition to the recorder. “Perhaps you would answer a few questions.”

“Like hell I’d do anything for you, you back stabbing asshole.” Makai hisses and Ford bristles but it’s Malka who gets indignant.

“We’re back stabbing!? You cost us our dream school!” Malka is squawking in Makai’s big, broad face, right to his teeth. She was always a spit fire.

“Oh, boohoo, you got to graduate high school with a roof and a fucking bed!” Makai is snarling, standing on the metal table, making it creek. “You obviously got into school, _Doctor_.” Makai is advancing, not far, the table isn’t that big, but enough to drive Malka into the air to hover. “And what happened to us? We chewed our way out of a car! There aren’t a lot of options for people like us! No diploma, no job, no home!” And Makai lunges even as Stan screams for him to stop, and he goes for Ford because Makai knows how to eliminate a threat. Malka is squawking and diving at Makai and Ford has a button in his hand and the room is swarmed with white shirts with needles and Stan still fights, still thrashes and no one pays him any mind when he’s screaming for his brother, for Makai. They just drag his fading brain and heavy limbs back to his cell and handcuff him up again.

 

It’s a long time--maybe--before he sees Ford again. He’s, somehow, allowed to have Makai back and they do the stupid cry and lick and cuddle until Ford clears his throat.

“Both subject 19200114 and daemon seem more sedate for this session. Usage of recommended medication seems beneficial.”

“Drugged ‘s?” Stan slurs, confused. Makai growls but doesn’t move away from under Stan’s head, letting Stan use his big, yellow body as a pillow.

“Despite favoring the form of _Panthera onco_ , common name, jaguar, the subject’s daemon shows no inclination of settling.” Ford drones. Stan listens and hums, feeling Makai breathe. “...Irregularities are genetic in the subject--close relative with physical abnormality, the subject himself has a male daemon. It is possible the manifestation of an unsettled daemon is also a physical manifestation of irregular genetic make up.”

“I’m righ’ here, F’rd.” Stan says into Makai’s fur. Ford hesitates, but ignores him.

“It is also possible that certain traumatic factors could have affected the subject’s psyche, manifesting as daemon instability.” Makai snorts.

“You talking about how messed up our lives are?” He snipes and Stan can feel Makai’s breathing pick up, just a little.

“‘Kai.” Stan says, softly, pleading.

“Despite the sedated state of the subject, the daemon appears lucid. Perhaps the same variable affecting the lack of settling also affects the bond between daemon and human.” Stan hears the recorder click off and Ford’s heavy sigh. Stan glances over Makai’s flank. Ford looks tired, Malka gently preening his sideburns and hair. He rubs his face, taking a deep breath. “Stanley, what happened?” Makai gives another ugly snort. “What happened to you two?” Stan forces himself away from Makai’s warmth to look at his brother straight on.

“Life, F’rd.” Is all he can say. Makai licks his face, rough tongue pulling on his stubble. Ford shakes his head. “You?” Ford frowns.

“Me?”

“Yeah, wha'ppened ta ya? Ya get t’ n’rd schoo’?” Damn, Stan’s still slurring, making this little heart to heart sound like it's taking place in bar rather than a... institution?

“I... that’s not important right now.” He says, hesitant, face doing a funny little spasm. Stan nods, yeah, that's fair. Makai snorts.

“R’lly miss ya, S’xer.” Stan says and tries to put everything into his voice, hands blindly reaching out, pulled short with a clank by the chains. Ford stares at his hands a long, quiet moment.

“I... should continue this session. I need more information.” Ford clicks on the recorder again. Stan feels his face crumble; he's too stoned to get mad, though. “A question to the daemon, called Makai. Are you consciously resisting settling or are you unable to?”

“Fuck off, Ford. If you didn't care for ten years you aren't getting anything now.” Makai snaps, rolling his big body to face Ford, back to Stan.

“There's no need for hostility.” Ford says all calm and reasonable.

“We can do it off the record.” Malka says, still stiff on Ford's shoulder. Ford frowns.

“The point of these sessions is to have this information on record.”

“Stanford.” Malka says, all pleading. She leans in and whispers something in his ear. Ford’s face gets all pinchy.

“Fine, but if they pull the funding, I'm blaming you.” He grumbles, clicking the tape off again.

“I'll take it.” Malka says fondly. She hops onto the table and closer to Makai. “Makai,” she says all soft like she used to when they were little and Makai was scared of the shouting. “Brother, I know you're angry and hurt, but, you are something amazing. There's never been a record of a daemon unsettled for so long. You have the opportunity to do something really worthwhile, you could help us change the way we understand daemons and the world at large. Don't you want that?”

Makai is silent for a long time before he slowly stands, on the table he towers over all of them. His face is stony and cold.

“I think,” he says low and dangerous and Stan tries to reach out to Makai because this is about to get ugly. Malka and Ford sense that and bristle.

“’Kai, com’ on.” Stan pleads because he doesn't want to fight.

“I think it’s interesting that the only time you found us worth talking to is when we’re a riddle you can use to get ahead.”

“‘Kai.” Stan whines.

“That's not fair!” Ford shouts.

“How dare you--!”

“Not fair!?” Makai is roaring and his tail is thrashing. Stan tries to grab him again but Makai steps out of reach. “Not fair is throwing away your brother and best friend the moment he made one stupid, little mistake!”

“You betrayed us! You broke our project! You ruined our lives!” Malka has taken flight to hover near Makai’s face, glaring him down.

“Stan didn't do anything!” He snarls and changes into a hawk and they're grappling like they're kids again but with a sharper, meaner edge.

“‘Kai, stop!” Stan jerks toward the two and Ford is scrabbling for the panic button.

“I tripped him! I'm the reason the project broke! I'm the one you should have gotten rid of!” Makai has grabbed Malka and pinned her to the table. Stan is still pulling and trying to reach Makai. His handcuffs are the only sound in the room bare the heavy breathing. “Stan didn't do anything to either of you.” Makai is hissing and Malka makes a small, hurt sound.

“‘Kai, no, stop.” Stan is pleading and Makai shakes his head and releases Malka; she flees to Ford, who hugs her close. Makai stalks over to Stan and let's Stan’s hand curl into his feathers.

“You want to know why I never settled? Fine. Because nothing felt right. I had to protect my human, the only family I had left, and nothing felt right. Not without you there.” And Stan is crying, damn drugs and hawk dander, and Makai’s voice gets all sad and broken and it's like he's the old, sweet guy curled around Stan in the dark; the guy who goofed off to make Ford smile when he was sad. “Nothing feels right without you here.” Makai shrinks into a small dog, licking Stan’s face. And damn Makai for his heart and honesty because he's right. It's been ten years since Stan felt safe enough to let his guard down, ten years since Makai could let himself be his normal, kind self instead of the vicious guard he had to be.

“I think this session is over.” Ford says, voice clipped. Stan doesn't look up, can't see how little Ford cares; can't have that tiny little spark of hope burn out. His heart’ll burn out with it, he thinks. He hears Ford let the doctor back into the room. The doctor pours over Ford’s health, apologizes for the lack of proper sedation. Ford waves it all off but recommends another low does sedative before moving Stan and Makai.

“Let ‘im stay.” Stan begs, fucking begs, clinging to Makai as hard as he can.

“I'm sorry, Stanley, but there's just too much risk in keeping you together.” He hears Ford say and Stan tries not to whine but he does flinch when he feels the prick of a needle and he hears Makai snarl. They're pulled apart again and Stan drifts away.

 

They try a few different sedatives, but they only thing that really works is the hollowed feeling that lingers around Stan and Makai like cigarette smoke. They answer Ford’s clinical questions and don't talk more than they have to. But everyday Stan asks of he can keep Makai and everyday he is denied.

There are still days when the separation hurts too much and he screams and rages and it takes a few days before he's stable enough for another “session.”

 

It's goes like this forever. Time is thick and Stan tries to sleep as much as he can. Then one day they drag him into the sunlight and into an armored car and they drive.

They drive for hours until they reach a creepy shack in a dense forest. Or, Stan thinks it's hours. He's been sedated like the early days, enough to keep him from flipping his shit because the bastards have Makai in a separate van.

It's a testament to how doped to shit he is when he finally sees Makai again, the guy is barely able to walk, in his jaguar form again.

They're lead into the shack and down some stairs and into a large, spacious basement. It looks like something outta a Frankenstein flick. There are huge computer consoles with bright lights and buttons, beakers, flasks, some jars with questionable specimens in them--is that a jar of eyes?

“Ah, good, you’re here!” Ford comes bounding in from a door to the right Stan didn't see. He's got a stack of papers in his arms, loosing pages in his enthusiasm. Malka comes flapping behind him.

“You made excellent time; there's so much to do!” Malka squawked, circling the other two. When Stan blinks blearily at them and Makai doesn't so much as twitch his tail, Ford frowns and rounds on their escort.

“I thought I specified minimum sedation.” Ford says while Malka lands and hops around Makai, watching his vague eyes watch her. The guard shrugs.

“Had to get creative with transport. Bug guy didn't take that too well.” The guard points a thumb at Stan and Makai, and Stan doesn't remember kicking up a fuss. Maybe it was Makai?

“Hm.” Ford makes a noncommittal noise. “Yes, well, you may leave.” He waves the escort away; they leave grumbling. Ford is too busy to notice, shining a penlight in Stan’s eyes. Malka sighs, disgusted.

“They'll be out for a while.” She says, flying up and landing on Ford's shoulder. Ford returns her sigh.

“That does affect our time table. Ah, well. Let's get you two settled in!” Ford claps a hand on Stan’s shoulder, making him stumble a bit. Ford frowns again and makes another considering noise. “I'm sure you'll find these accommodations much more satisfactory than your previous arrangement.” Ford begins to walk and Stan tries to follow him, slowly stumbling along with Makai staggering beside him. Malka flaps over to hover around them.

“Stanford, slow down.” Malka chides, and Ford turns, ready to argue, when he notices that the pair of them are walking slow enough that Malka can keep pace by hopping next to them. His frown deepens.

“Of course. Malka, of you could them to their rooms. I'll be along in a moment.” Ford turns in another direction, trench coat billowing around him dramatically.

“Worry wart.” Malka tsks but hops along on front of them. They eventually arrive in a small room with a double bed, a night stand, and that's it. Stan eyes the bed wearily. He'd love to lay down and let these drugs run their course, but lately beds have meant cuffs or solitary confinement. “Sorry the room is so sparse, we weren't sure what you would want. If you'd like a shower, there's a bathroom to the right through the bedroom door. I'm sure you're quite tired, so, please get some rest.” Stan just stares, bewildered. Malka starts to shoo both him and Makai to the bed.

“Stanley, I know you're tired but I need to ask you a few questions.” Ford appears on the doorway with a notebook and a pen behind his ear, and another in his mouth that he's chewing it thoughtfully.

“Stanford, they need rest.” Malka chides gently. Ford frowns.

“But--”

“Stanford, this has been a very stressful day and it's barely evening. Let them rest. You won't get any reliable answers anyway.” Malka flaps over and lands on Ford, lightly tugging his hair. He blushes just a bit and huffs.

“Very well. Get some rest, Stanley. Makai.”

And then they're both gone. Stan crawls on the bed, above the covers. Makai struggles up beside him. They curl around each other, exhausted, confused. Stan finds a dry, raspy laugh escaping him.

“They din’ t’rn off lights.” He slurs and Makai scoffs weakly beside him.

 

They do pass out and they do wake up feeling better only for Stan to meet two brown eyes staring him down. He screams and Makai startles and falls off the bed.

“Ford, what the fuck?” Stan croaks, limbs still slow and heavy. Makai groans from the floor. Ford perks up immediately.

“Good, you’re awake!” He pulls out the damn notebook and starts clicking a pen excitedly. “I have so many questions for you! Of course, before we can really begin I need to do a few tests first. Have you ever felt that you are not in control of your thou--” A sharp cough cuts Ford off and he flushes. Stan and Makai turn to see Malka looking thoroughly unimpressed on the nightstand by--holy shit.

“Is that fucking pancakes?” Stan asks, eyes glued to the limp, cold pancakes and the--fucking pitt cola. Ford coughs delicately into his fist, the fucking nerd.

“Ah, yes, I recalled you had a fondness for them.” Ford says and Stan wiggles over and grabs one to stuff in his face. Ford wrinkles his nose, but, fuck his nerdiness. Stan hasn’t had pancakes in ages.

“Slow down.” Malka chides and Stan does, just a little, because he wants that cola and he can’t drink it if his mouth is full of pancake.

“Stanley, Makai, I do have a serious proposition for you.” Ford leans forward eagerly, and Stan would have choked, but, fucking pancakes. Can’t waste those on the Heimlich. So, Stan grunts.

“What?” Makai asks in Stan’s place. He’s still a jaguar.

“We’d like for you to stay with us.” And Stan does actually choke. It takes Makai and Malka screaming and Ford essentially punching Stan’s guts to get Stan to cough up the traitorous breakfast food that tried to kill him.

It takes a few minutes for everyone to catch their breaths.

“Are you alright?” Ford asks, gently, as Stan is still gagging, Makai grooming his hair. He nods. “Okay, good, because. Malka and I were talking and…” Ford takes a deep breath. “Do you remember our dream to travel the world?”

“With treasure? And babes?” Stan asks, hoarsely, and that stupid ember of hope feels the hot breath of these words and burns. Ford looks cagey and Stan is trying so, so hard to cling to that hope because if this falls through, then Stan falls with it.

“Well, I, ah, don’t have a boat or, well, there’s a lake, but an unfortunate head monster lives there so I’d advise against going there for any length of time, but--ow!” Ford glares at Malka, who grooms a wing as if she hasn’t just pulled a few of her human’s hairs out. “Yes, alright! What I mean, Stanley, is that this town--you’re in Gravity Falls, Oregon, by the way--this town has so many wonderful mysteries!” Ford leans forward, his eyes bright with a light Stan hasn’t seen in years--even before the incident. “I would, ah, that is, if you would--ow, alright! I would appreciate--ow, why!?--fine! I want you here. Stanl--Stan, I... I would like to have you here with me.”

The room is dramatically silent, save for the chewy noises of Stan still scarfing down pancakes, damn the near death he experienced. Makai looks at Stan--his sticky, pancaked face and choked out red eyes.

“What’s the catch?” Makai asks, heavy limbs or no, he pulls his whole body up. Ford frowns, almost confused.

“Ah, well, I suppose you might need to write a report every now and then but--”

 “The real catch, Ford. I don’t care what it is, I just want to know what to expect.” Makai is sitting, somehow sober and that still kinda pisses Stan off that he’s stoned but Makai is still there.

“‘Kai, I don't think--” Stan mumbles, gulping his mouthful of pancake and cola. Makai gives Stan a sharp glare and, yeah, now Stan is sobered enough to get pissed. “Okay. Smartass, you got somethin’ to say?”

“You're the one who said they didn't want us. So, what, now that we're interesting we're suddenly worth keeping? This is Columbia all over again, Stan!”

“Ford's nothin’ like those guys, ‘Kai!”

“How do you know? We haven't seen them in ten years!”

“It's Ford! It's Malka!”

“And they've been picking our brains for weeks!”

“It's not my fault ya won't settle!”

“Guys?” Stan barely hears Malka’s small voice.

“The hell it isn't! I'm a part of you, jackass! I CAN'T settle until you do!”

“What the hell does that even mean?”

“Ford, now isn't the time--” Malka again, exasperated and concerned.

“You don't know what you want! You don't know who you are!”

“Fuck you, ‘Kai!”

“ENOUGH.” Malka roars loud enough to startle the three of them.

Stan’s mouth snaps shut but he still glares at Makai. Makai scoffs and turns away. Malka pulls Ford's sideburns again and he stops writing.

“Clearly we all have a lot to discuss. But shouting at each other isn't going to resolve anything. Ford, put that book away!” Ford guiltily puts the notebook into a coat pocket.

“Seriously, Ford?” Stan stares at his dumbass twin.

“That's the most candid you've been in weeks!” Ford crosses his arms, all huffy and defensive.

“This is what I’m talking about.” Makai grumbles.

“Stop, right now. This is pointless.” Malka snaps at them.

They sit in sullen silence.

“My offer is genuine.” Ford says, quietly. Makai has the decency to be quiet. “I know this must be confusing, this situation.”

“Yeah, not gonna lie, Ford, yer a little hot and cold right now.” Stan finally meets Ford’s eye and Ford shyly looks away.

“Ah, yes. Those, uh, sessions were bugged. I had to convince them that you would do better in an isolated environment.” Ford scratches a sideburn. Stan finds a tiny smile creepy on his face.

“Were ya pullin’ a con, Pointdexter?” Ford blushes.

“Of course not! I was being completely honest. You will do better here. With me.” Ford sighs a little as Malka preens his hair. “At least, I hope you will consider my offer.” Makai snorts, finally turning to look at Ford.

“What's our alternative, Ford? Going back to jail?” Ford winces a little.

“We could pull a few strings.” Malka offers, hesitantly.

“So, what, walk away? Just like that.” Makai scoffs.

“Well, no, you would have to keep your head down and go by a different name, probably.”

“Way ahead of you on that, Fordsy.” Stan waves a hand as Ford grimaces.

“Yes your...activities. We will eventually have to discuss that.”

“Nothin' ta discuss, Sixer.” Stan shrugs. “It's done.” Ford’s frown gets deeper.

“Stanley, as much as I disapprove of your...history, I do understand. I just need to know what happened and--”

“Said no, Ford.” Makai snaps. Ford glares at him and Stan shares a resigned look with Malka.

“Makai, I have no idea where this animosity is coming from but it is counterproductive to our reconciliation.” Ford sounds testy and Makai is fuming so Stan grabs Makai in a bear hug.

“‘Kai, later. Okay?” Stan says and he feels Makai’s big, jaguar body stiffen then sag.

“Fine.” Stan releases him and Makai, the asshole, shifts into a vulture and sulks in the farthest corner.

“So.” Malka breaks the stiff silence. “Now that you're rested would you like to see the rest of the house?”

“But my research!”

“Interrogate them later, Ford. You said you were offering a home, act like it.” Malka says, exasperated and Ford flushes to his ears and coughs into his fist.

“Ah, yes, I suppose I got a little excited.” He smiles sheepishly at his brother. Stan smiles softly back.

“Why not. If it's good digs we might stay a while.” Stan gets up on shaky legs, his brother reaching out a hand to steady him. Stan relaxes into the hold. “Come on, ‘Kai.” Makai grumbles but comes over, shrinking to a magpie and settling on Stan’s shoulder. Ford leads them through the basement, prattling excitedly though Stan is barely listening, just bathing in his brother’s presence. He glances over to Makai and grins. He sees a spark of hope.

**Author's Note:**

> End me.  
> Okay, break down.   
> Malka is Hebrew in origin and means "queen."  
> Makai is also Hebrew and means "who is like God?"
> 
> It was so hard not to make Ford's daemon an octopus--imagine nerdy, Ford Pines with a fucking aquarium on his back.   
> And Stan is unsettled because, fuck it, Stan is so at odds with himself. He's loyal to a fault and cynical as hell. He loves fiercely and disregards emotions easily. He's selfish and self sacrificing. Makai is allowed to be frustrated with Stan. If you know what Stan's daemon should be, let me know! 
> 
> And Jorge and Rico are okay people because I wanted Stan to be at least a little happy.


End file.
